


Heal Me

by jonnyluvssherlock



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After care, Cutting, Depression, Dom/sub, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flogging, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mild BDSM, Pining, Protective Sherlock, Self-Harm, Series 3, Spanking, john self harms, molly likes sherlock but he doesn't like her back, slight fix-it fic, spanking as an alternative to self harm, takes place during series 1 and 2 as well as The Empty Hearse in series 3
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-02
Updated: 2015-02-02
Packaged: 2018-03-09 19:55:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,330
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3262409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonnyluvssherlock/pseuds/jonnyluvssherlock
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sherlock finds out John has been self-harming, he takes it upon himself to find a new outlet for John’s urges.  After two years away, Sherlock knows he still has a chance when, despite the fact that John left their first meeting angry, he shows up at the flat ready to be soothed in the way only Sherlock can.</p><p>John and Sherlock aren’t in a relationship, they have an arrangement.  But when Sherlock comes back from the dead, John might finally be really to admit he wants more.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Heal Me

**Author's Note:**

> Sherlock/ Molly unrequited & onesided  
> i wrote this while i was sad and wanted to feel better. i needed Sherlock taking care of John and wanted to explore a way that BDSM could be helpful emotionally.
> 
> WARING: for cutting, self harm, long term depression, and misuse of spanking tools. all the bad things John does to himself. Sherlock makes it better.
> 
> specializedinomniscience was my amazing beta who checked to make sure i didn't cross any lines in this subject matter
> 
> Note: Please do not redistribute my fanfiction on other archives or sites such as goodreads or ebooks tree without my express permission.

The first time John cut himself, he was fourteen. He hid it well by wearing long sleeves and, after that, moved to other parts of his body. He was not trying to kill himself; he just liked the pain. It helped to clear his head. He got good at hiding the evidence. No one had ever caught him. Not his family, his friends, nor his girlfriends, and none of his army mates had ever seen the marks he left on himself.

 

When Sherlock walked in on him cutting the inside of his thigh after they had known each other for three months, John had freaked. It was just past midnight, he had been in is room, sitting on the edge of his bed. His jeans down around his ankles and his pants hiked out of the way to expose the tender flesh of his favorite cutting spot.

 

Sherlock had stared at him. Then, after clearing his throat, he had looked pissed.

 

“I want you in my room in two minutes.” Then he had turned away and walked down the stairs back to the main floor of the flat.

 

John had gathered his jeans and pulled them up before doing as Sherlock said. He had expected a lecture when he got to Sherlock’s room. He had not expected to find Sherlock standing at the foot of his bed holding a riding crop.

 

“On the bed.” He pointed to the end. “I want you on your front, your backside facing me.”

 

John did as he as he was told. He felt ridiculous, but he also wanted to see what was going to happen. He lay on the bed, his arse at the edge.

 

“Before I start, I want you to pick a safe-word.” 

 

John looked around him before stuttering, “Skull.” He cringed at the choice, but nothing else was coming to mind.

 

“Fine.” 

 

He felt something brush against his clothed arse and then he felt a hard blow. The sound it made was a sharp thwack. He gripped the sheets in front of him and closed his eyes. Pain bloomed where he had been hit and then relief rushed through him. ‘Oh’.

 

The riding crop hit him again and he had to hold back a moan. He did not find it sexually stimulating, but the pain was calming. It made his head quiet.

 

Sherlock hit him three more times before he stopped. The bed dipped down next to him and a hand carded through his hair.

 

“Next time you think about doing something idiotic, you come to me and I’ll take care of you.”

 

John breathed out slowly, his mind pleasantly blank. He was in the blissful post-cutting haze that he adored.

 

Sherlock adjusted him until John’s head was on his lap. He continued to pet John’s hair and sooth a hand over his back until John fell asleep.

 

After that, whenever John thought about cutting, he would go to Sherlock. They were not in a relationship. No, what they had was an arrangement. Whenever John needed it, Sherlock would help, and then he would comfort him after. They never kissed, nor exchanged any bodily fluids. As far as John could see, Sherlock did not find their encounters sexual, and neither did he.

 

It was not that John had no feelings for Sherlock, that he did not long to kiss him, to touch him intimately and be fucked by him. John just did not get off on being whipped, though he did get off on being submissive. Always had. He wanted Sherlock to dominate him like he did a crime scene. He wanted to be given orders, like being told to get on his knees to suck Sherlock off. When he was alone, he would touch himself thinking about his flat-mate. 

 

He never said anything. For a long time he assumed Sherlock was asexual. He had shown no interest in sex or in a relationship. Then Irene Adler happened and John became convinced that it was just him Sherlock had no interest in. 

 

Then Sherlock had killed himself and John had felt completely lost. When he had been released from the police station, he had gone home and up to Sherlock’s bedroom. He had found the flogger under Sherlock’s bed and beat his back until he felt blood rise from the fresh welts. His mind was in agony, and the one person who could make it better was gone.

 

\--------

 

“Short version, not dead.”

 

Those words rang in John’s head as he sat in the living room of the flat he shared with Mary. It had been four hours since they had gotten home but he was still seeing red. Mary had gone to bed as if she had known nothing she could say would make it better. He had not even taken his jacket off. He had just sat down and ran over the conversation with Sherlock over and over in his head. His hands balled into fists so tight that his nails were digging into his palms hard enough to draw blood. He needed a release.

 

\-------

 

Sherlock sat in his chair smoking. He could see John when he closed his eyes. See the hurt and betrayal that had flickered across his face during their brief conversation. He had known John cared, but he was suddenly realizing he had no idea just how much. The fact that he had lied to him and trusted others above him had hurt John in a way he had not expected.

 

Then there was that Mary woman. She would have to go, along with that god-awful mustache. There was something off about her; she was not what she seemed.

 

He heard footsteps on the stairs and froze. It was half past two in the morning. He was about to grab something to defend himself when the pattern of steps registered in his mind, he knew those footsteps. He put the cigarette out and straightened the front of his suit. The door opened and John stepped in, still dressed as he had been at dinner. He looked tired, old, and defeated. In an instant, Sherlock knew why he was there.

 

If, after all that had happened, John still trusted him enough to come to him for this kind of help, then he had not lost him. Not really.

 

John stared at him from the doorway. He could tell he was not being forgiven, but John’s need for emotional release was too great to ignore. A knot twisted in his gut as he thought about how John must have handled his problem during his time away. It was clear he would not have trusted Mary enough to have her take his role. Had he administered the floggings himself, or had he gone back to cutting? He would know soon enough.

 

“Go into my room and strip down to your under clothing.”

 

John nodded and went. 

 

Sherlock took a deep breath to settle his nerves. He waited five minutes before following John. He found him lying on his front, his arse at the edge of the bed. His clothing was in a pile on the chair in the corner, all but his vest and pants.

 

He reached under the bed and found his box of toys. All bought to aid John. He took out the leather slapper. It would cause enough pain to satisfy, as well as make a satisfying noise. John seemed to enjoy knowing what was being done to him.

 

“Any injuries or places I should avoid?”

 

John shook his head.

 

“Tell me the safe-word.”

 

John was silent for half a minute. “Skull.”

 

Sherlock stood behind John and let the first hit fall. He hit him on the arse where it would make the best sound before moving to the back of his thighs. He hit him ten times, varying the pressure, location, and speed. John lay still, gripping the sheets. When Sherlock was done, he laid his head down and sighed.

 

Now came Sherlock’s favorite part. He put the slapper away and sat next to John. Slowly, he pulled his shirt off him so he could see John’s upper body. He grimaced when he took in John’s back. There were layers of scars showing John had flogged himself too hard. He rolled John over and pulled him up the bed until John’s head was on his pillow, and then he spooned up against him. He held him while John breathed slowly.

 

“I can’t decide if I hate you or not.” John murmured.

 

Sherlock ran his fingers through John’s hair. “Would you believe me if I said I never meant to hurt you, that I thought I had your best interest at heart?”

 

John shuttered, but did not pull away.

 

Sherlock leaned down to whisper in John’s ear. “Everything I do is for you.”

 

He watched John’s face. He expected his expression to close off and for John to push him away and call him a liar. Instead, John just looked sad.

 

“Can you accept that that’s hard for me to believe?”

 

Sherlock nodded. “I can. As long as you accept that I will do anything to prove it’s true.”

 

He and John locked eyes. He saw the flicker of desire in John that he had seen so many times before, but John did nothing, as always.

 

Two years away had given Sherlock time to reflect, and he had concluded that John was romantically, and sexually, attracted to him, but had done nothing about it because he believed Sherlock did not feel the same. He had planned to tell John how he felt at the restaurant, but there had been Mary and the ring. He still planned to confess, he just needed to time it right.

 

John fell asleep, his breathing evening out. At this point in the past, Sherlock would have gotten up to check on an experiment, or look over notes for a case. Right then, he could have been solving the greatest locked-room murder and he still would not have moved. He finally had John back in his arms; he was not giving that up for the world.

 

Sherlock estimated that John would sleep two hours and then wake up embarrassed and ready to leave. He stole his clothing and hid them. Then he started up a bath. He heard John moving about in his room before the door between the bedroom and bathroom opened.

 

“Where are my clothes?” 

 

“Take a bath and I’ll tell you.”

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose. “I don’t have time for games.”

 

“This isn’t a game. You need a bath to help you relax, but you won’t have one if you go home. You will be too worried about waking her.”

 

John looked surprised, and then huffed, “Fine.”

 

Sherlock stood by the bath and waited.

 

“Are you going to give me some privacy?”

 

“No.”

 

John clenched his jaw and slowly removed his pants. 

 

Sherlock’s eyes fixated on his inner thigh. He could see faded red lines. John was cutting again. Sherlock stripped off his own clothing and slipped into the tub.

 

“You can’t be serious!” John looked at him as if he had gone mad.

 

“Just get in.”

 

John stood naked, staring at the bath for two full minutes before he cracked. He stepped over to the bath and sat on the opposite side as Sherlock. Sherlock watched as he tried to get comfortable despite the spout poking him in the back.

 

“Come here.” Sherlock opened his arms and legs, inviting John to sit between them.

 

John’s face flushed, but, after another minute of trying to make the spot work, he conceded and turned to sit between Sherlock’s legs.

 

Sherlock picked up the flannel. After adding soap, he brushed it along John’s back.

 

John jerked away. “What are you doing?”

 

“I’m washing you.” He ran the flannel along John’s shoulders. John held still. He let Sherlock wash his back and then pull him so he lay against Sherlock’s chest, making it easier to wash his front.

 

“You’ve been cutting again.”

 

John swallowed.

 

“You’re the only person who’s ever noticed.”

 

“I doubt that. I’m just the only person to say something about it. I’m going to shave you now, stay still.” He grabbed the razor and shaving cream from the side of the tub. 

 

“Always your way.”

 

“Hush, you were going to get rid of it anyways.”

 

He shaved John in silence. He wanted to kiss his neck, from the side of John’s face down to his shoulders. He wanted to lick and kiss every scar and then leave love bites across John’s chest and neck. Marking him as his. He wanted to hold John down and fuck him. Wanted to feel John’s arms around him while they made love. To cum inside him. 

 

His cock stirred at the thought, but he quickly willed it away. He needed to take things slowly. After John was shaved, they lay together for a few minutes. They would have probably stayed longer, but the water was getting cold. They got out and Sherlock handed John his towel. He took it and paused, staring at him.

 

“I’m not the only one who acquired a new set of scars.”

 

“It’s been a hard two years.”

 

“Tell me about it.”

 

They gazed at each other. Then John stepped forwards, his hand extended towards Sherlock’s face. 

 

When his hand touched Sherlock’s cheek, it was electric. They both gasped and moved, as one, to close the space between them, ignoring the fact that they were both dripping wet and naked. Sherlock leaned down until his breath ghosted along John’s face. They kept eye contact. John leaned in as if to kiss him.

 

“Mary.” Sherlock blurted.

 

John stopped and looked confused. “What?”

 

“You have a girlfriend, named Mary, waiting for you in a flat which you live in together.”

 

John sighed, but did not move away. “Forget her.”

 

“You say that now, but you’ll regret it in the morning.”

 

John closed his eyes. “Why does it always have to be like this? Just as something is about to happen, something else gets in the way!”

 

“I’m not saying I don’t want to kiss you. I just want you to be mine, alone, when we do.”

 

John shivered.

 

“Say that again.” He breathed.

 

Sherlock repeated the sentence in his head to pinpoint exactly what John wanted to hear again. “Mine.” He purred.

 

John shivered again.

 

“Mine.” Sherlock growled.

 

John’s eye flew open. “I want-“

 

Sherlock shook his head. “Not yet.” 

 

They dressed in separate rooms, and then met in the kitchen. John kept his eyes on the floor.

 

“It’s been hard.” John took a deep breath. “These last two years have been very hard. I needed someone to keep me sane. Even if they couldn’t hold a candle to how I felt.” John looked up, clearly unconformable with what he was saying. “I love her. I just don’t love her the way that I love you.”

 

Sherlock took a deep breath. He wanted to take John in his arms. To hold him until the pain in both their hearts stopped.

 

“I’m going to go home. But I’ll be back. This isn’t over.”

 

Sherlock nodded.

 

John turned to leave.

 

“Thank you for coming for help.” Sherlock whispered.

 

John smiled. “Thanks for helping.”

 

\--------

 

Sherlock spent his day with Molly in an attempt to pay her back for her help. When he saw her ring, he had hoped it would mean she was over him, but it was clear that there were still some lingering feelings. He pretended to everyone that he and John had not made up. He felt that John would appreciate the thought. 

 

In the evening, he had gotten himself chips, and then headed back to the flat, hoping John would arrive. Instead, he got Mary rushing at him. He assumed the breakup had not gone well, but she surprised him with a skip code.

 

Two things struck him as odd about the encounter. One, she had known his address, which, by Mrs. Hudson’s tone, was clearly somewhere she had never been before. Second, she knew what a skip code was. Apart, those two things might have meant nothing. Together, however, they felt like a trap. 

 

He had only gone with her because she seemed as afraid as he did for John. When they found him being burned alive, he was surprised she did not attempt to help pull John out. He had assumed her love for John was great enough that she would throw her personal safety aside for his. Clearly, he was wrong. Sherlock pulled John out of the fire alone.

 

After the paramedics had gotten there and put John in an oxygen mask, Sherlock had made his move. He stepped into the ambulance before Mary could with a smirk as John reached for his hand. She had glared at him and he knew John had told her their relationship was over. There was no use pretending like it was not. 

 

She had still followed them to the hospital. Sherlock was worried John would follow her back to their flat in an attempt to make her feel better. After the doctor had given John the green light to go home, Sherlock had lingered by the bed waiting for a choice to be made. Her cell phone had rung and she left to take care of it, leaving them, thankfully, alone.

 

“This isn’t how I imagined this going.” John smiled shyly.

 

“No.”

 

John looked around awkwardly. “Have any ideas as to who might have done this?”

 

“A few.”

 

John nodded. “They must not want us back together. They waited until I was outside the flat before they acted.”

 

Sherlock froze, thinking he had misunderstood him, “Where were you?”

 

“Outside Baker Street.”

 

Sherlock felt warmth flood into him. “You came to see me.”

 

John nodded. “I told Mary it was over after work. She took it better then I thought she would.”

 

“Shall we go then?” Sherlock smiled.

 

“Yeah.” They left the room, heading towards the entrance of the hospital.

 

“John.”

 

Sherlock rolled his eyes, cursing the world. They were so close to escaping. They both turned toward Mary.

 

“They said I could go.” John said, his voice calm and clear.

 

She smiled. “Then let’s go home.” She pointed down the hallway from which they had come.

 

“I’m going with Sherlock.”

 

Her face set in anger, “John.”

 

John stepped towards her. “I told you before.”

 

“I had hoped you would come to your senses.” Her voice was tight.

 

“I have.” He looked over his shoulder and smiled at Sherlock. “I know I’m an asshole for the way I’ve treated you, but I can’t pretend I don’t feel the way I do.”

 

“This is your choice?”

 

“Yes.” He leaned down and kissed her on the cheek. “I’m sorry.” Then he turned and walked back, slipping his hand into Sherlock’s.

 

The cab ride home was quiet. They held hands and looked out their own windows watching London pass by them. When they reached the flat, they took their coats and shoes off like normal and then looked at each other.

 

“I never imagined this far.” Sherlock muttered.

 

“I did.” John closed the space between them. “Kiss me.”

 

Sherlock leaned down and brushed his lips against John’s. They both shivered. Sherlock pressed harder and wrapped his arms around John’s waist. They kissed each other softly for a few minutes before pulling apart to look at each other.

 

“As much as I’m enjoying this, I really need some sleep.” John smiled shyly.

 

“Then come to bed and we can continue in the morning.”

 

They undressed, standing on opposite sides of the bed, and then met in the middle, Sherlock spooning John as he had the night before.

 

“What now?” John whispered.

 

“We go to sleep. In the morning, I’ll tell you all about the case and we’ll go from there.”

 

John nodded. “If I start screaming, just let me. It’ll stop after a little while.

 

“Don’t worry, John. I’ll keep you safe.”

**Author's Note:**

> i would love to know what people thought about this fic. i may add to this universe if people enjoy it


End file.
